


the pen and the sword

by Evanaissante



Series: so needless to say (slowly learning that life is okay) [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e12 The Secret Sea, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:45:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanaissante/pseuds/Evanaissante
Summary: Quentin is tired, so very tired but he's also determined to save Eliot, now more than ever. A discussion with Fen will push him even further in his quest to free his best friend, and everything that Eliot represents, from the claws of the Monster.orQuentin remembers Fillorian days, Alice cooks breakfast, Margo makes innuendos and Fen throws rocks in the Wellspring.Just a normal Thursday.





	the pen and the sword

**Author's Note:**

> hi there, this is the second part of the so needless to say series that will (normally) have around ten parts in total and that focuses on fixing the shit out of season 4 because wtf.
> 
> as always english is not my first language so if you see any major mistakes let me know.  
this fic is linked to 04x12 but quentin doesn’t travel to fillory and well, you’ll see but it’s very loosely based on that episode. i just said fuck canon for certain parts because... yeah.  
i have to also say that this story isn’t particularly kind to alice because it’s mainly under quentin’s point of view and his feelings towards her are complicated. margo isn’t very nice either but just so you know, those opinions do NOT reflect my own, no alice hate here.
> 
> also, a quick warning, in this fic, quentin obviously suffers from depression and he's spiralling, he's blaming himself for everything and he's reliving painful memories, basically he's having a shit time and his mental health is at its lowest. i don't think there's anything triggering in the fic, but please be careful if those subjects are sensitive to you <3

On the two hundred seventy-third morning since Quentin lost his entire life, he’s not awakened by a childlike creature wearing the face of his best friend but by the sun and the sounds of the coffee machine. 

It’s almost a little surreal, how good it feels to stretch and open his eyes without the threat of someone right over him watching his every move. It makes him a little nervous too and maybe it’s because, in the strangest way, he’s become used to the Monster’s presence which is mostly due to the fact that Quentin automatically associates Eliot’s eyes, hands and body with _ home _, but not knowing where the creature is stresses Quentin out.

The part of him that worries about everything all the time, the part who makes him second guess every decision he’s ever taken or, like, makes him question out loud his friends or even himself when they’re in a dangerous situation, that part tells him that he should check on the Monster, that he should probably see if his kill count hasn’t risen while Quentin was finally getting five hours of continuous sleep. But the other part of him, the one who remembers that five hours is actually not nearly enough and that the last thing he’s eaten was a pack of Blue Raspberry Jolly Ranchers, tells him to leave the beast alone and pour himself some damn coffee.

Alice is waiting for him in the kitchen, she’s made bacon, a little too crispy for Quentin’s taste but he’s way past that now, and she’s put some parsley on his eggs. She pushes a plate towards him and a nearly spilling cup of coffee, Quentin takes it all, because he’s hungry and it must be like 6 am, but he really really _ hates _parsley.

“Morning,” His voice is still a little rough from sleep but Alice doesn’t seem to mind when she pecks his lips. It doesn’t immediately register in Quentin’s brain that Alice, Alice Quinn, that Alice, just kissed him. He doesn’t want to make it a big deal because when they were together, and they’re together now, right? Yeah, they’re together, he’s the one who asked, well when they were together they kissed like this all the time. It was something they did, they’d wake up next to each other and kiss, but not too much because of their morning breath, and they’d maybe even fuck if Alice initiated it. It was kinda sweet, kinda sexy, it had been Quentin’s life.

(_ And he doesn’t want to think of another life, of somebody else waking up right next to him and kissing him as if their lives depended on it, as if it could all end abruptly in a single day. He doesn’t want to think of long fingers grazing his cheeks and a mouth that tasted like fresh plums, carrot wine and warm sunlight against his own. He doesn’t want to remember how right it had all seemed, how easy it had been, how happy he had felt. He doesn’t want to think about dark curls where he would rest his head and inhale the scent of rosemary, he doesn’t want to remember the feel of calloused hands caressing his navel or the sound of low moans that he can still hear in his dreams. He can’t think about it, it’s over, it’s done. It never happened and he has to fucking move on. _

_ But the words _ peaches and plums _ , _ motherfucker _ they haunt him, they’re followed by _ proof of concept _ and Quentin feels his heart in his throat, he feels like a liar when he kisses Alice and he feels like a fraud in his own skin. Because Eliot’s alive, he’s alive in there and Quentin would do anything to save him, he would give his life for Eliot’s, but he’s also afraid, so fucking afraid, because Eliot is holding his heart in his hands just like the Monster handles stone organs, Eliot could crush it, he’s done it before and so Quentin runs, runs, runs. He needs to get out before he loses himself and so he runs to the first person who’ll want him_.)

“Good morning,” Alice says. She’s not entirely comfortable, Quentin can see it in the way she tugs her hair behind her ear. “Did you sleep well?”

It’s an empty question to fill the silence, they both know it, “Fine.” It’s so goddamn awkward but it shouldn’t be, not when they both wanted this.

(_ Quentin didn’t want this, he wanted to want this, he wanted to protect himself, to save the last pieces of himself that hadn’t been swallowed by Eliot. He doesn’t want this, why does he try, why does he try, why does h- _)

“Fen sent a bunny a few minutes ago,” Alice’s sipping on her coffee, which reminds Quentin to lift his arm and take a big gulp, “She’s coming to Earth any minute now .”

Quentin hums in his mug a little before realising what she just said, “What? Why? Is she okay?”

“The bunny only said _ coming to you soon _ ,” She pauses, “Then another popped up and said _ sorry, it’s Fen _.”

“That sounds like Fen,” Someone says behind Quentin and he doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Margo. 

She settles on the chair next to him before stealing his fork and taking a large bite of his eggs. Good, Quentin wasn’t looking forward to faking his parsley love any time soon. “I bet you my axes that another dumb shit has hit Fillory and that the world is about to end… _ again _.”

“You don’t seem that worried about your kingdom,” Alice comments.

Margo swallows her food, well, Quentin’s food, before answering. “It’s not my priority right now. I have a best friend slash platonic soulmate to save before I worry about Fillory and its gold shitting beetles rebellion.” She points her fork at Alice like a spear and Quentin is slightly worried that she’s going to throw it. “And may I remind you that it used to be your kingdom too? I wasn’t Fillory’s only queen when it all started but I didn’t see you try to calm down talking turtles or marry prepubescent sociopaths.“

Alice barely blinks, “I niffined out while killing the Beast, you can’t possibly blame me for that.”

“I blame you for a lot of things, you want me to pick another reason on the list? I can alphabetically if you want?”

“I tried to apologise, you didn’t want to listen.”

“Well, I don’t _ have _to,” Margo replies as she stabs the yolk of the second egg, “A lot could have been avoided if-”

“If what?” Alice doesn’t have food to maim with a fork so she stands up and Quentin feels like he’s moments away from ending a fistfight. “If I hadn’t destroyed the keys? Because last time I checked, I’m not the one who awakened a dangerous monster by shooting its host in the head!”

The silence that follows is deafening, the only thing Quentin can hear is Margo’s fast breathing. He knows Alice wasn’t trying to imply anything, she was just stating facts as always, and she was right about it. It wouldn’t have changed anything, the damage had already been done when she destroyed the keys, but she made the mistake in her anger of trying to shift the blame instead of burying it. Even if it’s true, even if everything points that the blame lies on someone’s shoulders, she shouldn’t have said it. She shouldn't have said it because now Margo has the rage to match her resentment.

“Don’t you fucking dare, you blonde Judas,” It’s almost a growl and Quentin thinks about a time where Margo used to terrify him, a time where he truly believed that she only tolerated him because Eliot liked him enough to keep around-

(_ -but not enough to live with. Not enough to give this a chance. Eliot loved him, but not enough, never enough and Quentin loves too much, too fast and it always ends with him alone and the people he loves suffering. It ends with Alice and Arielle, both of their bodies buried in Fillorian woods. It ends with Eliot saying no, saying _ it’s definitely not you, not when we have a choice _ . It ends again and again and maybe Quentin wants to end too. _ )

Now he sees what Margo’s anger hides, he knows what he means to her because she means the same to him and he knows that this animalistic side of her isn’t born out of viciousness but out of pain.

“We trusted you!” Margo full on screams, her cheeks matching the red colour of her blouse, “We trusted you and now you want to spin this around and blame the only person in this group of absolute fuck-ups who can’t defend himself.”

“I’m not blaming Eliot!” Alice stutters, obviously uncomfortable, she looks back to Quentin, maybe hoping he’ll help, but he’s stopped listening after she said _ his _ name.

It’s a thing to say the name in his head or to mention it as they talk strategy to save him, but it’s been a while since Quentin heard someone say Eliot’s name with so much emotion. The last time was probably when it all started, more than eight months ago when Margo first learned that remembering didn’t mean getting every part of your life back. The way she had uttered Eliot’s name, begging to know if he was still alive, tears forming in her eyes as despair and rage grew in her entire body, it had made Quentin’s skin crawl.

“He was my friend too,” Alice whispers, slowly dropping her head when Margo takes a sharp breath.

“_ Was _?” Her burning furor has died down now, Quentin can see it in the way she slowly stops vibrating with it, but she’s left with quiet hatred and maybe that is more dangerous when it comes to Margo. “He’s not dead.”

Alice stares wide-eyed, fumbling with an appropriate answer to what she just implied. “That’s not what I meant-”

Margo raises a hand, “Save it,” She pauses and for half a second Quentin is worried that she’s going to throw Alice some battle magic right over the kitchen’s marble countertop. But she just grabs the plate of eggs and moves to the sofa, leaving Alice quiver with what she was about to say.

Quentin feels like he should say something, Alice is obviously disturbed by Margo’s apparent rancour but he’s not sure that he has anything reassuring to tell her. The trust between them all has been severely broken and those long months of playing monster babysitter have not helped to create a safe space for them to discuss it and hash it out. Preferably without punching each other, which might not have pleased Kady all things considered. Still, he tries his best by gently placing a comforting hand on her shoulder but Alice shrugs it off immediately.

“I’d better do some research while Fen’s not here.” She eyes his cup of coffee and the empty spot where he once had eggs before nodding towards a cupboard. “There’s Lucky Charms on the top shelf.”

She leaves without looking back, still tense and sad, Quentin doesn’t try to stop her, it must say a lot about himself that he barely cares about his girlfriend’s happiness, that he can’t motivate himself to ask her to wait up and talk to him. 

(_ He used to be able to tell Eliot’s good and bad days apart just by listening to his breathing. He used to know just what to say, after years of trials and errors, to make him laugh or smile. Being with Eliot used to be the easiest, most logical thing in Quentin’s life and now Eliot’s so close yet so far away and Alice is only meters away but he hardly cares. Nothing makes sense anymore and Quentin wonders if he’s ever made sense at all. _)

“Trouble in purgatory?” Margo calls from her seat. She’s got her feet planted on the coffee table, her heels leaving small circular stains on the glass.

Quentin picks a spot next to her, letting himself fall with exhaustion. He’d been refreshed just fifteen minutes ago, but now his entire body feels heavy with sleep. “That’s not how the saying goes.”

“You and her are never gonna be paradise material,” Margo says around a bite of eggs. “We both know that.”

“I think she knows it too,” Quentin confesses, he’s nuzzling his mug like it can bring him some strength in all of this. “We thought we could try again because we both love each other, but I’m not sure we were ever meant to work.”

“That sucks,” Margo replies, she’s nibbling at the bacon and Quentin can hear the meat crack under her teeth,” But it’s also the least of your problems right now.”

“True.” He puts his feet next to hers on the coffee table and sighs, “I’m too tired for this.”

“Same.” She’s not looking at him, not really, her eyes are stuck on the yellow cushions on the sofa. “This isn’t probably the right moment to say this but,” She takes a huge bite of the bacon before continuing, “I kind of slept with Josh.”

“Oh, wow, that’s, uh-”

“And Fen.”

Quentin blinks, “Wait, what?” He turns towards her but she’s still his gaze. “Wait, go back.”

She groans and finally stares back at him, “I slept with Josh and then with Fen, okay?” She puts down her plate and Quentin snatches some bacon just to give himself something to focus on. “With Josh, it was kind of a fuck-or-die thing, right? Werewolf bullshit obliged or whatever. But I also kind of like him, he’s nice when he isn’t being a total fucking tool. Like, sure, he’s dumbass but I’m apparently surrounded by idiots, so if you can’t beat them-”

“Fuck them?” He provides.

“Exactly.”

“And with Fen?”

If this wasn’t Margo, Quentin would almost say that she seems embarrassed. “It was a lapse of judgement.” She doesn’t mean it and they both know it. “We were both grieving and we’d just been on a quest together, emotions ran high and we fucked, so what?”

“Well, you just told me for starters,” Quentin begins, “You never tell me these things because you don’t think they matter.”

“They don’t”.

“But now you’re telling me that you had sex with two of your closest friends-”

“More like acquaintances.”

“One who happens to be a werewolf and the other one is your best friend’s widow.” He finishes, “Doesn’t seem like nothing to me, Margo.”

She exhales deeply and her head falls in her hands, her hair covering her face. Quentin doesn’t really know what to do, so he just pats her shoulder, awkwardly he presumes. When she looks back at him, he’s a little disturbed by the evident tears in her eyes. Margo doesn’t cry, not in front of people at least, seeing her like this twists something in Quentin’s gut. But she doesn’t let the tears fall, “I don’t know what I’m doing.” She whispers, like she’s confessing to a particularly disgusting vice.

Quentin can relate to that, “I don’t think any of us truly knows what they’re doing.”

“This thing with Josh,” She starts, “It wasn’t supposed to mean anything and when it happened, it was just to feel good.” She smiles a little, that particular smile she uses before saying something that would make a nun have a stroke, “And it feels damn good, so I thought, hey, I should keep this guy around for some rough fucking when I’m beginning to feel stupid bullshit like _ sadness, _because I have a kingdom to rule and I can’t just lie in clothes and cry like a some whipped cock.” There’s probably a story behind that particular image but Quentin doesn’t feel like asking.

Margo continues, “And we kind of decided to keep it open, right? Because I don’t want a _ boyfriend _, I’m not thirteen.”

“So,” Quentin pops the last piece of his bacon in his mouth, “Fen?”

“It really kind of just happened,” She looks less sad now and Quentin is shocked to see that he feels less drained as well. Maybe it’s good for them all to keep some level of normality while dealing with apocalyptic crap even if their idea of normality means potential royal polygamy. “We were returning from a stupid ass quest in the woods to talk to Fen’s lucid dreams’ hallucination and the next thing I know, I’m eating her out on her bed and she’s caressing my hair like she _ likes _me or some shit.”

“And, uh, after that?” Quentin tries really hard not to imagine that visual.

“Afterwards, she had some dream about dethroning me, then she actually did dethrone me because I asked her to and we didn’t really get the time to talk about _ that _ before I fucked off to the desert _ . _”

“And then you screwed some douchebag with a mullet while hallucinating Josh _ and _Fen,” Quentin recalls from her story, “That’s not at all a clusterfuck.” He pauses then frowns, “Wait, does it mean that Fen is also a werewolf now?”

Margo shrugs, “I don’t think so, the curse is very heteronormative, it’s all about penis and penetration.”

“Isn’t everything?” He jokes and it has the benefit of making her snort really unattractively. 

She looks back at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips and then she throws her arms around him, surprising Quentin. “I missed you, Q.” She murmurs next to his ear.

It’s not like they haven’t seen each other at all during those eight months, but Quentin knows that they haven’t really been themselves these days. He knows that when they lost Eliot, they also lost each other in the aftermath because they were both enable to deal with it. Because Quentin couldn’t tell Margo what Eliot really meant to him-

(_ still means to him, he still loves him with all he has and it’s all he is. He’s in love with Eliot and he can’t do anything but pray that he’ll be able to save him, that he can fix this before it’s too late, even if Eliot doesn’t love him back. Because Quentin loves him enough for both of them, and Margo loves Eliot more than anyone else. Quentin has to do this for her too, he has to save Eliot, he has to, he has to, he has to- _) 

and Margo couldn’t tell him how much she was hurting without tearing away a part of the mask that protected her so well. They’re so fucked up, the two of them, they try to act like functioning individuals around the others, but they both know that without Eliot they’re barely people.

“I missed you too.” He says and he means it so much he could choke on it.

* * *

Fen doesn’t exactly understand how magic works, she never did, even when Eliot tried to explain it to her when they would spend their evenings in their room, talking and drinking wine (for him) and raspberry juice (for her) on the first months of her pregnancy. 

That memory, the one where he had touched her belly bump and stared into her eyes under the light of the candles before kissing her forehead with reverence and showing her another spell because they never knew when a brownout would happen and Eliot wanted her to be prepared in case their daughter would be a magician, and _ why wouldn’t she be, Fen? _ That memory hurts like a badly wrapped wound.

It doesn’t hurt as much now that she has hope, it doesn’t leave her breathless with heartache but it stings every time she thinks about it, every time she thinks about the way he would whisper her name in the middle of the night when she woke up in cold sweat because pregnancy was the worst thing ever or how he would let her rest her head on his chest when she couldn’t find a comfortable position in their bed.

Fen isn’t in love with Eliot, she’s never been. She had found him beautiful when they met and she’d been attracted to him, to the way his lips wrapped around the words _ would you marry me, _but the attraction had seized quite quickly and she’d been terrified that she would never feel anything but polite disinterest for him. But then so much had happened, and she’d grown to love him.

She’s not in love, but she loves him.

And she misses him, she misses him enough to try to travel to Earth without the help of any magicians or any buttons, clocks and other strange objects that apparently also worked with magic. 

It hasn’t been easy to find a door to Earth, but after a few hours of research, shared with Tick and Rafe while one of them stared at Josh the Fish, she has found a way to jump from one world to the other by skipping purple moonstones in the Wellspring with one leg up and a hand on her heart.

“This is a lot of trouble for nothing, your majesty,” Tick intervenes as she throws her sixth stone, “We don’t even know if Exiled King Margo will hold an audience with you.”

“She will,” Fen says, wobbling a little as she tries to keep her balance. “Don’t worry, Tick.”

The man huffs, “It is my duty to worry about the wellbeing of Fillory and its rulers, your highness.” He crosses his arms, it kind of reminds Fen of a petulant child. “And may I remind you that the High King of Fillory is not supposed to leave said kingdom? This isn’t a good idea.”

“I’m pretty sure rulers of Fillory shouldn’t turn to fishes either but here we are,” She throws a look at the bowl Rafe is holding at eye level. Josh the Fish isn’t doing too hot from what she can see. “Once the water starts boiling, you need to give me the fish.” 

“Yes, your majesty.”

“And don’t forget the lid!”

Her seventh stone hits the surface of the Wellspring and before she can say another word, steam emerges from the water. It’s a little scary if she’s being honest, it looks deep and too hot to be pleasant but she doesn’t really have another choice. She throws her cape on the ground and quickly gives her crown, _ Margo’s? _, to Tick who grabs it as she takes the fishbowl and jumps in the Wellspring.

The way down isn’t as scary of she thought it would be, she barely thinks about it before she feels the heat of the water envelop her and her sealed fishbowl. She closes her eyes and when she opens them, she’s standing drenched in the middle of a very nice look apartment.

She doesn’t register it at first, her body feels weird and she’s suddenly cold, but there are people in the room with her and a quick look to her right tells her all she needs to know.

“Margo,” She whispers, as she takes a step her legs start staggering under her weight. They would have given out if Margo hadn’t caught her just in time.

“Fen?” It’s not really a question but it is laced with surprise and wow, has Margo always been so strong? Last time Fen checked, she couldn’t take out a dagger out of a tree but now she’s holding Fen, and the fishbowl, up while frantically calling out for someone to bring her some towels and clothes. “What happened? Why are you so wet?”

A lesser woman might have made a joke, but Fen is High King and she can’t just do that… But she’s also very tired so she snorts a little and the smile that blossoms on Margo’s lips is incredibly nice to look at.

She replies because she has to, even though all she wants is to fall asleep or eat, she could eat, she’s kind of hungry. “I jumped in the Wellspring.” It sounds even crazier now that she says it out loud.

“You what?”

“I thought that was a legend,” Another voice says, “Was it the moonstone ritual? I had theories that it could work but we never really had the time to-”

“Q, not now.” Margo stops, “Give me some damn towels, Coldwater.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Fen is bundled in a very soft fabric by two bigger hands before being carried gently towards the sofa by Margo’s low voice and strong arms.

“And make some more coffee while you’re at it.”

Fen is still holding the fishbowl, she knows she is because Margo points it out, “Fen, why are you carrying a dead fish?”

That snaps Fen out of it, she shrieks a little and throws the lid of the bowl aside to have a clear view of Josh. “Oh my god,” She’s freaking out, it’s embarrassing but she can’t help it, “Oh my gods, he could have died, oh my gods.”

“Fen?” 

“Oh my gods, oh my gods,” She’s staring at him without blinking, hoping that it will bring him back all of his colours, “I’m so sorry, Josh.”

Margo seems even more confused now, which is understandable, “Wait, _ Josh _?”

“What’s going on with Josh?” Asks someone behind Fen and she knows it’s Quentin when he drops a cup of coffee in front of her. Fen really loves coffee, especially with milk and sugar, or even caramel and whipped cream, she particularly likes the frozen ones from the coffee shop Eliot had sent her, Fray and Todd at once.

“He’s a fish,” She says because what else is she supposed to tell them? It’s kind of why she’s here in the first place.

Quentin stares at her with the most confused look Fen has ever seen on a human being, but she heard from Eliot that it’s kind of Quentin’s “brand”, even if she does not know what that means. “Is that like a metaphor, or?” He asks, his eyes automatically going to the bowl.

“No, not a metaphor,” She elevates the bowl and points at it, “Quite a literal fish.”

“Okay, okay, pause” Margo’s raises a hand up, the universal way to say stop, “What the fuck?”

It didn’t take that long to explain everything once Fen didn’t shiver so badly, the coffee had helped a lot, and the fact that Margo hadn’t interrupted her had also been quite helpful. Fen wasn’t sure that she would have gotten all the words out if Margo, with her blazing brown eyes and sharp tongue, had interfered. Not that Fen doesn’t like when Margo makes scorching comments, they’re always amusing or entertaining, but she’s not certain that she wouldn’t have combusted right here and there from too many suppressed emotions.

She’s stressed out, super stressed out actually, to the point where she can’t think straight without her mind totally derailing. She’s mad too because this was not how her life was supposed to go, this wasn’t what she had signed up for, but here she is, with a human in a fishbowl and a heavy crown that she’s not sure she deserves.

She feels guilty as well because becoming High King had never been her goal, even when she had been a devoted FU fighter, she hadn’t wanted the power for herself. And Margo had earned that crown, she had fought for every inch of wood of her throne and she’d been dispossessed of everything that she had ever loved, from her best friend to her kingdom and yet, even if she doubts herself, Fen enjoys being High King of Fillory. She likes knowing that she can actually say something now and be listened to, she likes knowing she can make a change. She loves it and she feels so very guilty for it, not only because Margo had been her High King but because Margo had also almost been more than that. 

So much more than that.

“So, Josh,” Quentin takes the bowl and looks at the fish, “Hi?”

“He needs constant eye-contact.” Margo repeats, “As in if we stop watching wannabe Nemo only minute, he dies?”

“Yes.”

“And it happened because he touched the Secret Sea?” 

“Yes.”

“The magic source that could help us save Eliot, that Secret Sea?” 

Fen blinks, “Is there… another one?”

Margo throws her hands in the air with a loud groan while Quentin stares at his cup of coffee silently. It would almost be funny, how very different they are while wanting the exact same thing, but it’s only depressing if Fen is being honest.

“I’m sorry,” She says, “I thought I could help, but-”

“You helped,” Quentin whispers, his eyes are nearly the same shade of brown as Margo’s expect for the fact that every part of Margo radiates heat as if she’s a walking fire and Quentin seems so cold. He looks frozen and empty, had he always looked so sad? Fen doesn’t remember. “You helped, we’ll find a way to fix this, we alw-”

“Shut up, Quentin,” Margo snaps, bolting up with anger, “Shut the fuck up for once in your goddamn life with your hopeful bullshit, this isn’t one of your children books. We’re screwed!”

Fen had always wondered how Margo could verbally bite people, how she could convey so much venom in a few words, especially when the people she attacked were people she loved. She’d done the same to Josh recently and Eliot had also been a victim of Margo’s cutting comments but he had always known what to say to either calm her down or egg her on so she’d tire herself out. He’d been the only one to know how Margo worked and he hadn’t passed that knowledge to anyone. 

Quentin opens his mouth but Margo grabs her abandoned breakfast, the fishbowl and leaves the room, he heels echoing in the loft like she’s passing judgement on Fen and Quentin with every step she takes.

Quentin sighs heavily before rubbing his eyes, “Sorry about that,” Fen doesn’t realise he’s talking to her until he purposefully looks at her in expectation of a reply. 

“It’s fine,” She says, a little bashful, she and Quentin have never really spoken after all and she doesn’t really know what to expect. She’d heard a lot about him from Eliot, because he was a very vocal drunk who would sing the praises of his friends for hours once he had too much experimental champagne, and then some more from Margo in snippets, simple things like Quentin’s favourite cocktail back on Earth. Fen felt like she was familiar with a version of Quentin that might have shifted and reformed in the past months. It was hard to believe that the pale, exhausted man in front of her was Eliot and Margo’s famous _ Q _. “Margo has been quite tense lately.”

“Yeah, that’s understandable.” He stands up, cup in hand and walks to the kitchen, Fen follows him only because she doesn’t know what else to do and because she wouldn't be against more coffee herself. 

He serves her a cup with a shy smile, “You want milk?” 

She nods and thanks him, he puts some milk and sugar in his own mug, an incredible amount of sugar to be honest, and they drink in silence, only disturbed by the sounds of Margo pacing circles in the next room. 

“So, uh,” He’s fidgeting with the handle of his cup, his fingers crisscrossing around it in a manner that Fen would have easily believed to be the movement for of spell if he didn’t seem so unaware of it, “Congrats on being High King?”

He makes it sound like a question which is weirdly accurate of Fen’s feeling on the matter, “Thanks, it’s been, well, it’s been something.”

“Right, yeah, yeah.”

She wants to say more, she wants to ask if he knows more about Eliot’s condition, if he’s still alive now, if he’s okay, if he’ll ever come back to them and if he does will he still kiss Fen’s forehead, will he still make Margo laugh like no one else, will he still _ be _Eliot.

She doesn’t, she can’t, she thinks that if those words leave her mouth she will break down in tears and Quentin will close down. He looks so fragile, so sad, it twists something deep inside of Fen, she wants to say it’s maternal this need to protect people but it’s always been part of her. Not very FU fighter of her.

She does say, however, “Eliot talked about you a lot.”

Quentin looks up, clearly confused, “He did?” Something passes in his eyes, something she can’t name, “What did he say?”

Where should she even start? Should she even start? She doesn’t want to dishearten him or awaken his pain, Ember knows how thinking of Eliot breaks Fen’s heart, she doesn’t want that for Quentin, not when she knows that the bond he shares with Eliot is stronger than hers and far more agonizing to be missing. But she also feels the need to share this with someone, her memories of Eliot are painful, yes, but sometimes the tears she cries are not just born out of sadness. Sometimes, remembering every good part of Eliot fills her with determination and hope.

Fen thinks that Quentin Coldwater might definitely need some hope.

“He would always mention you when we made strategic decisions for the sake of Fillory,” She recalls a particular time where they had needed to find a non-magical, _ non-befouled _ source of water for a small village on the South of Fillory. “He would always look at the maps with Benedict and whisper under his breath; _ What would Q do? _” She smiles, the memory doesn’t hurt, “He told me once that he liked seeing things through the eyes of his friends because you were all so different and that he needed that kind of perspective as High King. Margo would always the aggressive approach, Alice would choose the most logical option, Penny would jump straight into the issue with little regards for his own safety and you’d try something he would have deemed stupid but ultimately successful to make sure that everyone was safe.”

“That’s,” Quentin isn’t smiling yet but there’s finally some light in his eyes, “Terrifyingly accurate.”

She hums, “I didn’t really know any of you but by the end of the first month but I knew more details about your group than about him.”

“That’s also terrifyingly very Eliot.”

“He did share some things about his past with me, though,” She takes another sip of her coffee, “It took an almost famine crisis before he truly started talking about himself as a person and not a beautiful theory, but by the end of it, I felt a lot comfortable with him and by extension with the rest of you.”

“He told you about-”

“The farm? Yes, I didn’t find his retelling of it all as dramatic as he seemed to say it was at first.” She pauses and she can feel herself reaching to her wedding ring unconsciously, “But then there was this thing with one of the keys you were all looking for and I saw his father. It made a lot more sense after that.”

Quentin nods absently, he’s looking at her ring, following the way Fen circles it around her finger. It’s not the most exuberant ring ever made, she wouldn’t have wanted that, but it’s beautiful. They hadn’t had rings at the wedding, they had just tied their hands together as the tradition wanted but Eliot had given her a ring once they had moved to Whitespire. Fen thinks it must have been one of his own rings that he magically shrunk for her, or at least it’s a ring he would have worn himself without it clashing with the rest of his jewellery. It was made of fine silver that had been enchanted to keep its form and shine forever and of a small but gorgeous morganite stone that sparkled brightly in the centre.

The ring she had given him in counterpart had been far less elegant, it had been her grandmother’s ring, just a simple band of Fillorian silver ornated with an onyx bead. It had been too small for him, of course, but Fen had thought that he would resize it with just a snap of his fingers, but he had placed it on his pinky instead. When she had asked why he wouldn’t change it, not only to fit him but to harmonize with the rest of his rings by adding a little more flair to it, he had told her, with one of the most gentle smile he had ever given her, that altering it would be criminal.

“_ This is a family heirloom, Fen, _ ” It had been during those days after he had learned her implications with the FU fighters, after he had accepted that she wasn’t everything he had expected. Those days, when she was pregnant, happy, hopeful and they had started becoming friends, these days had been her best days spend with him. “ _ I’m keeping it just as it is, scratches and everything. _”

She had never understood it.

Maybe she never would.

“He never sold it,” Quentin says next to her, breaking her reverie.

She looks at him, at his tired eyes and restless hands, “Sorry?” Why would Eliot try to sell her ring, when would he even have had the time to think about it? And why would the High King of Fillory even need to sell knifemaker's ring?

Quentin stops to stare at her, he doesn’t seem as confused or sad as he had been just a few minutes ago but he’s shaken, Fen can see it in the way he pulls out a pack of cigarette out of his pocket and lights one. “He never told you, did he? _ Fuck _.” 

He takes a long drag on his cigarette, creating a small cloud of smoke around the both of them. Fen isn’t bothered by it, it’s not the most pleasant thing per se, but she’s been around Eliot and Margo enough times to be accustomed to the smell and feel of it floating around. The months after Eliot’s coronation, Margo would go back and forth on Earth to get cigarettes and bottles of wine for times of desperate needs that couldn’t be disposed of with some of Josh’s concoctions or experimental champagne. Eliot hadn’t been able to stop smoking, especially after he’d learned that she was pregnant. He’d been stressed out of his point to the point where when he finally ran out, he started to bite his nails and pull on the skin between his thumb and index. Margo hadn’t been the biggest smoker, she’d told Fen once that it was mostly a social habit, meaning that when she finished her stocks, she simply stopped smoking, Margo had that amazing ability to make something complicated seem extremely easy.

Fen had smoked a cigarette only once in her entire life, one offered by Eliot after one of their first nights as husband and wife in Whitespire, after the _ Too Many Naked People _ fiasco. He had told her that it was a bad habit, smoking after sex, but that it was a very Earth thing to do and she had jumped on the occasion of sharing something with him that wasn’t entirely political or business-like. She almost wished for one now, just to occupy her hands and mind.

She’s going to ask, of course she is, even if dread forms in her throat, choking her slowly with the weight of a thousand things she isn’t sure she wants to know. “Told me what?” She’s terrified, but terror is part of being High King and Fen is nothing if not zealous. Especially when it concerns the people she loves.

And Eliot? She loves him more and more every day he isn’t here.

* * *

_  
_When Quentin has finished explaining the Keys, the Mosaic and the fifty years of his life that sometimes still feel like the present, Fen is no longer looking at him. She’s not avoiding his eyes, Quentin is familiar with that particular move, he’s an expert when it comes to dodging the attention of people. He’s had years after being dragged to university parties by Julia to master it. This isn’t it, this is exhaustion, not evasion.

Quentin is also quite the expert in that matter.

“Are you okay?” He gave her a cigarette fifteen minutes ago when her hands made grabby motions at the pack, since then she’s been almost sucking at the bud as if it could protect her from every truth Quentin has thrown her way.

She doesn’t reply immediately and Quentin doesn’t know if he should be grateful or worried, he just confessed of having kind of (?) an affair with her almost deceased husband (??), he’s not sure of what the procedure is here. After a few minutes, she crushes the remains of her cigarette in the ashtray disposed on the coffee table and sighs heavily. “When I thought things couldn’t get more difficult, here we go again.”

Quentin almost snorts, “Yeah, that’s a way to approach it.” He expected a far more emotional reaction, be it anger or confusion, but Fen doesn’t seem conflicted or jealous, he hadn’t really counted on that seeing how here relationship with Eliot truly worked out but it wouldn’t have been irrational for her to feel somehow betrayed. It was almost anticlimactic. 

“I’m sorry,” She finally turns towards him, looking at him as she speaks, “I don’t really know what to say. How did the others react?”

“Uh, that’s-uh,” Now that’s a bit embarrassing, Quentin can’t believe that the first person in his friend group he told this to is _ Fen _ , daughter of a knifemaker, acting High King and wife of former High King of Fillory, _ Eliot’s _wife. Good gosh.

Fen blinks, “You haven’t told them?”

“We didn’t really have the time.” He doesn’t what to frame it as a question, but that’s how it comes out anyway.

“Does Margo know?” His face must give the answer because Fen swears loudly, “She’s going to be so mad when she founds out.”

“Why would she have to find out?” Quentin says and has his voice always been this high? “I don’t see why we should tell anyone, right? It’s nothing, nothing at all and once we’ve saved Eliot, it will be totally anecdotical.” 

“_ Quentin _.” The way she pronounces his name basically tells him that she doesn’t believe a word of what he just told her. “You need to tell them, the both of you.”

“Can’t really have the both of us say anything right now.” He points out.

She rolls her eyes, “You know what I mean,” She grabs another of his cigarettes and lights it, “When he’s back, you need to tell everyone, especially Margo.”

“She’ll go ape shit.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it doesn’t sound nice so that’s more than likely.”

They smoke in silence for a few minutes, it’s almost comfortable, mostly because Quentin has caffeine and nicotine, but the company isn’t so bad either. There is an easiness to Fen, she has an aura that just makes you happy, or less intensely just pleasantly calm, to be around her. She also probably, Margo not included, the only person who can understand Quentin at the moment. He knows that Fen isn’t in love with Eliot and-

(_ -and he’s not in love either, he can’t be, he just can’t. He needs to let this go, to let _ him _ go, he needs to move on, to save the parts of him that don’t belong to Eliot yet. He needs to stop this, he needs to let this go, go go go-) _

that their relationship isn’t comparable to the one he has with Eliot, but Fen understands the need to save Eliot, his friends don’t. They try, Julia tells him every day that they’ll do everything to help Eliot, but Quentin knows that if it was asked of her to make a choice between Eliot and the rest of the world, she’d pick the world. They would all pick the world.

Quentin isn’t sure he would.

He knows Margo would pick Eliot in a heartbeat, it should be terrifying to know how attached and codependent Margo is, to know how dangerous she could be if things go sideways, but it’s weirdly comforting to know he isn’t alone in this, same thing with Fen, she’s Eliot’s wife, she understands Quentin. After all, he’d been Eliot’s husband a long time ago.

(_ Their hands are wrapped by a blue ribbon under the pale sun of Spring, there are lines on their foreheads and white hairs that weren’t there a few years ago, but it doesn’t matter. The sound of Teddy’s faked gagging accompanies them as Quentin kisses his husband, warmth blossoming in his heart like the first flowers of a peach tree. The memory of Arielle no longer hurts and Eliot’s lips are so soft against his own, this feels like home _.)

“I miss him,” Fen whispers next to him, her hair is still wet and she looks grey under the livingroom’s lights. “I miss them both.”

There are a million things Quentin could say that doesn’t sound incredibly dumb or futile, he could tell her that everything will be okay because it’s true, he won’t stop if it doesn’t become their truth, he could tell her that he’s sorry, even if it isn’t his fault, not really at least.

(_ But it is, isn’t it? Without Quentin, none of this would have happened, without him, Eliot could have had a long and beautiful life of partying at Brakebills. Without Quentin, Eliot wouldn’t have to kill Mike, he wouldn’t have had to become High King and all the mess that had followed that particular decision would have been kept far away from Eliot. And it’s because Quentin killed Ember that they had to go to Blackspire in the first place. Without Quentin, Eliot would be free. _)

He could tell Fen that he understands, he does, he could maybe even hug her and they would move from this, but no, Quentin can say anything that isn’t completely stupid.

“But Margo is in the next room,” He wants to hit himself before he’s even done talking, “I mean, I know that she was banished from Fillory, but that’s kind of temporary, right? She’s still here.”

Someone should write songs about Fen’s patience because when Quentin is finished, she doesn’t deck him or laugh, which is kind of an uncanny response to his usual irritating chattering. She simply smiles a small smill that’s a little sad around the edges, “When I banished Margo I was certain that she would hate me, even if it was her decision, I just didn’t think she would forgive me.”

“I don’t think anyone can hate you, Fen.” It’s true, there’s this thing about her that makes her impossible to dislike. She’s got that princess-like sweetness, the kind that talks to animals (literally when it comes to Fillory) and takes care of people in need, but she’s also strong to the point where she could frighten anyone if she desired it. Quentin doesn’t know anyone who can throw knives at people’s heads while still being the kindest person in the room.

She chuckles softly but there’s still some sort of grief in her voice, “You’d be surprised at how many people have told me just this week how the regret that I’ve become High King.”

Quentin frowns, “They’re just assholes.”

“They’re my people,” She pushes a strand of wet hair behind her ear and Quentin should really give her some clothes, he can’t imagine that she’s comfortable like this. “Did Margo tell you?” She’s looking at him straight in the eyes, not blinking.

“Tell me what?”

“What happened, before she left.” Quentin must momentarely have amnesia because he can’t remember the past hour at all. Fen groans a little, “What happened between me and her.”

“Oh!” Yes, that, Margo did tell him about that, how could he forget? “Uh-yeah, she did.”

“Did she seem… mad?”

“About what happened?”

“Yes, of course about what happened.”

“Not really?” How can he explain to Fen that Margo is having the existential crisis of the ages without freaking her out? “She’s mostly confused.”

“I guess that’s, good?” She doesn’t seem sure, Quentin can’t blame her, “I just,” The way she hides her face in her hands twists something inside Quentin, that fear of rejection and personal turmoil feels too familiar. “I just don’t want her to hate me. I want her to come back and not think that what happened between us was just, just so ploy to get the crown.”

“No, Fen, that’s,” He hadn’t even thought of that and he doubts that Margo believes that either, “I don’t think anyone would think that.”

“I should have protected Josh,” Her arms are still wrapped around her head, like a protection against the rest of the world. “He’s my friend and I love him, but he’s Margo’s… _ Margo’s _and I should have kept him safe for her.”

“Hey, listen, hey,” He grabs her hands because he doesn’t what else to do and because he feels like she might need some human connection right now, “You banished Margo so she could go to the desert and win axes that might actually save Eliot, you discovered the Secret Sea, the ultimate magic source to help us bind the Monster. You travelled through worlds to bring Josh to Margo, you did everything and more, Fen.”

“Sometimes, nothing feels like enough,” She says, “Sometimes, I feel like I’m failing everyone around me and there’s just nothing I can do to make it better.

“You try, that’s already far enough.” It’s probably hypocritical of Quentin to say this, but he truly believes it in Fen’s case, she has helped them immensely these past few months and she’s the main reason why Margo isn’t worrying about the state of Fillory like crazy while she’s on Earth. Fen’s helpful, she really is, it breaks Quentin’s heart a little so see so much doubt in her blue eyes. “What you did for us, it really helps, it’s going to change things.” He doesn’t want to give her too much hope, he’s afraid of jinxing them both, but he can’t even think about any other scenario than _ Eliot Comes Back Unscathed And Everything Goes Back To Normal _, he’s not ready to face any reality where Eliot doesn’t come back to them in one piece. He’s already suffered a life without Eliot, a life where he had to bury him and keep going.

Never again.

(_ The smell of dirt sticks to his clothes like some sort of plague, it’s suffocating him to the point where when Jane Chatwin speaks to him and asks for the key, he’s barely able to breathe. He’s shaking and it isn’t from his sore knees and aching back, he’s wobbling on his feet like a drunk man out of a bar on a Friday evening, but there’s no alcohol in his blood, just pure misery. _

_ He’ll have to send a letter to Teddy tomorrow and he already knows that waking up will be the hardest part. He’s right, until the day he dies ten years later, waking up without Eliot next to him stays the most painful thing he’s ever had to live. Never again. _)

Never again.

“We’re going to get him back,” He tells Fen, his hands surrounding her own, “We’re going to get him back, whatever it takes._ I promise _.”

He doesn’t say whoever it takes, because he can’t say it out loud, he can’t confess that to anyone, but he thinks it so loud that he hopes the gods hear him. Fen thanks him and then follows a now calmed Margo into one of the loft’s many bathrooms to finally change her clothes. When she leaves, Alice joins him on the sofa, a book in hand and her blonde hair pinned in place, she’s beautiful and Quentin feels guilty for the emptiness inside of him when he sees her.

She tells him about different methods to bind the Monster, they all sound similar and complicated but it really doesn’t matter. For the first time in two hundred and seventy-three days, Quentin sees the light at the end of the tunnel. He’s going to get Eliot back, he has to even if it burns down the world, even if it erases magic from the surface of the Earth or turn Fillory to ashes, even if destroys everything around them.

Even if it destroys him in the process.

(_ Long fingers grazing his cheeks, a mouth that tastes like fresh plums, carrot wine and warm sunlight, hands wrapped by a blue ribbon under the pale sun of Spring, lines on their foreheads and white hairs that weren’t there a few years ago, Quentin won’t lose this again, even it’s not real, even if it’s not possible. He won’t lose it. _

_ He can’t.) _

**Author's Note:**

> you can notice in this fic that no one really asks Q how he’s doing. i didn’t change that from the show :|
> 
> next up : post 04x13, Eliot takes a bath, Margo washes some hair and Julia makes a decision. stay tuuuuned.
> 
> also, pls come talk to me on [tumblr](https://starryspice.tumblr.com/) (like seriously, just DM me) to talk about queliot, the fic or the magicians in general!! 
> 
> byyyyyye


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